I’ll lay me down an’ dee.
Susanna Blamire
“CUTTIN’ RUSHES”
Oh, maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years ago!
Meself was risin’ early on a day for cuttin’ rushes.
Walkin’ up the Brabla’ burn, still the sun was low,
Now I’d hear the burn run an’ then I’d hear the thrushes.
Young, still young!—and drenchin’ wet the grass,
Wet the golden honeysuckle hangin’ sweetly down;
Here, lad, here! will ye follow where I pass,